


Tomorrow Not Guaranteed

by mia6363



Series: Fight for Tomorrow! (and for whiskey and peaches) [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Trauma, Existential Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I make Bobby dress terrible, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Kaiju (Pacific Rim), M/M, Past Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Physical Trauma, Post-Drift (Pacific Rim), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sensuality, Sparring, The Drift (Pacific Rim), These folks are healing, and they're getting better, because i love that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 19:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15892557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia6363/pseuds/mia6363
Summary: General Yukimura’s daughter hadn’t sparred a partner in months. The last four sessions had ended in twenty seconds.These matches are about having a conversation,her mother had hissed, her grip firm on her arm,a physical conversation to judge if you are a good match. Your cooperation,and her grip always tightened hard enough to bruise,is mandatory.





	Tomorrow Not Guaranteed

Stiles woke slowly, the dull ache from the scratches down his back and bite marks on his thighs a rhythmic throb that dragged him into consciousness. 

He turned over onto his stomach and opened his eyes to see an empty bed. Stiles rubbed his eyes and smelled coffee. He swung his legs over the bed and shuffled into the small bathroom that connected to his bedroom. 

One of the _very few_ perks of being an engineer during the apocalypse was that Stiles didn’t have to rely on community showers and bathrooms. Stiles brushed his teeth, splashed water on his face, and wondered he could convince Peter to use their hot water ration for a shared shower. 

The smell of coffee was stronger when Stiles stepped into the kitchen. Peter knew how he liked it. Black, strong, and bitter. Stiles ran his hands down his back, slapping his thighs and letting his eyes flutter shut at the pleasant ache. He expected to see Peter in the kitchen, lounging in sweats and reading whatever memos had rolled in for him overnight. 

Peter was in sweats, but he was not alone. General Yukimura stood with him. 

Stiles yelped, his reflexes too late to cover himself as they both looked over at him, General Yukimura with a disinterested raised eyebrow and Peter with a smug smirk. 

“Sorry,” Stiles ducked back into the hallway, “I’m sorry, General, I didn’t know you were going to be here!” He slipped and hit his hip on the corner of his door. He pulled on the first pair of pants he could find, which happened to be Peter’s. “Fuck, fuck fuck.” Stiles knew his face was scarlet. “ _Fuck.”_

When he emerged again, the General stood in her decorated uniform, her eyes hard as Peter leaned against the counter. It was a practiced casual pose, but Stiles saw how Peter’s shoulders were just incrementally slouched inward, his right shoulder raised. He didn’t try to hide the scars that stretched across his back, torso, and up the side of his face when they were alone… the same way he never flinched at showing Sitles his right shoulder, where his arm ended a few inches below the shoulder. 

But with others, Stiles could see that Peter still got that urge. 

“What makes you think that he’ll answer to you?” General Yukimura’s voice never sounded anything other than strong. Stiles wondered if the woman ever slept, or if she simply powered down. Not a hair was out of place, and Stiles checked his watch. It was barely past six. “You’re not the first person who’s approached him. Russia and Japan have tried and he didn’t take _any_ of their offers, which I heard were very generous.” 

Stiles awkwardly slunk past Peter, smiling a little when Peter’s hand shot out to gently run down Stiles’s side. 

“They don’t know him,” and Stiles couldn’t help but smile at Peter’s hoarse, blown out voice. He poured himself a cup and tucked himself into Peter’s right side, kissing Peter’s cheek as Peter continued. “I do. He’ll come if I call.” Peter smiled, his eyes tight. “I’ll give you his location by the afternoon. Send out a team to bring him here.” 

General Yukimura straightened. 

“I’ll be waiting on the coordinates.” 

With a sharp glance to Stiles that made him flinch, she left. As soon as their door shut with a loud metal _clang,_ Peter slouched, his smirk dropping and his head coming to rest on Stiles’s shoulder. Stiles kissed his temple.

“What was all that about?” 

Peter pressed closer. 

“Could be nothing. A last hope.” Stiles took a long sip of coffee. Peter kissed Stiles’s cheek. “Finish your coffee. It’s going to be a long day.” 

::::

Living in the shadow of greatness was nothing new for Kira Yukimura. When she was little her family just had a rich history, major figureheads in a wide array of careers with eyes on her, wondering which piece of history she would change. Her mother was military minded, strategic, and quick-thinking. Her father broke new ground in weapons engineering with a heavy focus on aerodynamics. 

When the first Kaiju appeared on the West Coast, her mother had led the charge to bring it down with planes and tanks before they’d started the Jaeger program. The world changed… and suddenly Kira didn’t have the luxury of choice of _how_ she would change the world. Now, when people looked at her, their eyes searched for _when_ she would prove to be like her mother. 

She finished up her long run and hit the community showers all before seven. By the time she made it out, the latest batch of materials had been dropped off in her room. Military novels, engineering specs, and the latest scholarly articles about the Kaiju biology. 

“Any fun reading this morning?” The familiar whir of Peter’s bionic arm made Kira smile. She fell into step with him easily, heading to the gym. He made a gimme motion with his hand and she pressed the collection into his arms. “Boring. Crap. That asshole lied about half his fucking accomplishments. Trash.” Peter grinned. “You keep reading shit like this and your brain is going to fall right out of your ears.” 

Kira laughed, louder than her mother liked, loud enough to echo off the gym walls even as other soldiers started to shuffle in. 

“Don’t say that too loud, my mother will be upset.” 

Peter rolled his eyes. 

“It won’t be the first time I pissed off somebody’s parents, and I doubt it will be the last.” 

Of all the things to come from the Kaiju and Kira’s future stopping from being an open realm of possibilities and changed to just one inevitable conclusion, her favorite was Peter Hale. 

As a former Jaeger pilot, Kira knew that she should be valuing his experience and insight… but really she just liked his stories. Other pilots who had been Kira’s mentors did it for her mother, for the chance to get approval from the great General Yukimura. With Peter Hale, it felt like he liked Kira for who she is, not who he _hoped_ she would become. 

The day started off like the others, running drills together, Peter doing his best to make her laugh during her pull-ups, and her listening to Peter’s crazy stories about his college life as she did her cool-down stretches. That day, however, Peter kept glancing at the clock.

“Everything all right?” 

Kira wiped her face with a cold towel. Peter met her eyes. 

“Kira,” his throat bobbed, “I didn’t know how to tell you,” and her heart sank, waiting for the inevitable _your mother gave me a promotion, I finally got what I wanted, I can be freed of this glorified babysitting job_ to fall from his lips. She bit her lower lip to keep it from wobbling, to keep self-loathing from pulling her under because why did she think it would be any different, why did she let herself continue to _hope_ — “I found a potential pilot for you.” 

Her heart thudded in her chest. 

“But there’s no one on base that is,” she swallowed, “compatible with me.” 

“I know,” and Peter smiled and guilt gripped Kira’s ribs for thinking that Peter had been like her other instructors, selfish and uncaring. “It’s why I picked someone off-base.” 

Before Kira could ask who they were, how Peter knew them, and why he thought this person would be different from the others, the base-wide intercom system crackled. 

_**“Kira Yukimura, report to sparring room 14.”**_

Peter exhaled and held out his arm. 

“It’s showtime.” 

They weren’t the only ones reporting to the sparring room. Kira knew that once her name had echoed through the halls, anyone who wasn’t on a specific assignment was going to show. 

General Yukimura’s daughter hadn’t sparred a partner in months. The last four sessions had ended in twenty seconds. _These matches are about having a conversation,_ her mother had hissed, her grip firm on her arm, _a physical conversation to judge if you are a good match. Your cooperation,_ and her grip always tightened hard enough to bruise, _is mandatory._

Kira wasn’t the only culprit. Half of her opponents refused to try and hit her because she was the General’s daughter, and the other half came at her like rabid animals, frothing at the mouth to prove themselves to their leader. 

As she entered the already clambering room, the chatter an excited roar, she wondered what kind of match this would be— a pathetic pitiful one, or a desperate attempt at a show of power. 

The sea of people parted, their whispers excited and eyes scrutinizing as Kira approached the mat, Peter leaving her with a comforting squeeze on her arm as he joined Stiles’s spot on the far side of the wall. 

On the opposite side of the expansive red mat was a man.

He was older than her, unshaven, and his hair was a wild bird’s nest of chaos around his head. He had on silver aviators, a robe with sloppy attempts at patches used to cover holes, a stained tank-top, and faded pink sweatpants. His posture was awful and even from across the room Kira could tell that he needed a shower… and that he’d been drinking. 

She untied her boots and stepped out of them, her bare feet hitting the mat for the first time in months. 

The man slipped off his flip flops and took off his sunglasses, gently placing them on the floor just outside of the mat. He slipped off his robe and let it fall to the floor behind him before he stepped onto the mat. 

Kira noticed the harsh lines on his face, how his eyes were alert even though she saw the slight sway in his center of balance. He hadn’t looked at her mother once. Kira tied up her hair into a tight bun and took two bamboo bo staffs off the wall. 

“I prefer bamboo, but if you have a preference,” Kira extended the staff to him, “I’ll defer to your choice.” 

He took the bamboo staff and gripped it in his right hand, running his fingers over the chute’s ridges. 

“Nah,” his voice was raspy, like he’d just woken up. When his eyes slid to hers, Kira couldn’t find the usual hunger to make an impression. The impatience she felt from him had nothing to do with her mother. “Bamboo is great. Really stings when it hits. Better than a hot cup of coffee.” 

It was obvious by the way he held the staff that he had training, but his feet weren’t in the right position. He didn’t keep his weight evenly distributed. Kira wondered if she could beat her record time to lay him out on the floor, to do it with such ferocity that instead of wanting to “continue the conversation,” he’d opt out. Go home. Crawl back in whatever bottle he’d been shaken out of. 

She bowed her head. He did the same. 

The moment she tightened her grip on her staff the entire room fell into a reverent hush. 

Kira didn’t need to look to the observation deck to know that her mother was watching. Unflinching. Her opponent barely lifted the staff, still swaying on his feet but his eyes never left hers. 

_What a waste of time,_ Kira thought bitterly. She knew that people whispered about her being picky. Immovable in her stubbornness. Hope had curdled into disappointment. She wondered what her mother was thinking, allowing this match. Was the implication that if Kira kept holding out that she’d only be left with drunks?

 _Fuck it,_ Kira let her grip tightened until her knuckles were white. _I don’t care,_ she lied. 

She kept perfect form and posture as she ran forward, light on her feet but her swing fast. A quick jab to his right kidney just as his weight shifted to that side. She could see it, the moment of contact, his eyes widening, his knees buckling as he pitched forward on the mat, a broken wheeze being sucked into his lungs. The pain was a conversation ender. Maybe it would help him sober up, though Kira didn’t particularly care if it did or not. 

His hands jerked up and intercepted her staff, using his strength to keep her momentum moving forward as he stumbled back, his feet struggling to catch up. His reflexes were not… the plight of an intoxicated man.

She didn’t give him time to breathe, she kept going, following him around the mat, not letting up as he countered and countered until she finally made contact with his outer left thigh. 

The hit made him shiver, his lips pulling back to reveal large teeth.

“There’s that sting.” He inhaled sharply, like he’d jumped in cold water. “Just what the doctor ordered.” 

He took a step forward, unsteady, and then began to run. His feet fell in all the wrong placements, his center of balance was constantly in flux, but he moved quickly. His lack of efficiency was as frustrating as it was exhilarating. He wasn’t boring, and Kira jumped when the bamboo stung her lower back after he’d spun, nearly toppling over but catching himself as he threw his weight into the attack. 

Her gasp was sharp and her back arched, the contact burning as she turned. Kira stopped thinking about laying him out, about sending him home, and for the first time in her life, she smiled in the sparring room. 

::::

When Peter Hale called him, the only reason Bobby Finstock picked up was because it was Peter. When his former co-pilot called, he answered. When people became pilots, a lot of folks did it for the glory, buying into the propaganda that the military sold. He had to admit, their posters were beautiful, using bold colors and strong lettering. 

_Join the Jaeger Team Today!_

_Do Your Part in Survival!_

_Protect Our Planet!_

Bobby only joined because Peter had been drafted, and he only became a pilot because him and Peter were the best pair out of their entire station. Bobby had never been good at much in life, except sports and parties. It turned out it took the end of the world and giant monsters coming out from the ocean to prove that Bobby was also good at piloting a Jaeger. 

General Noshiko Yukimura didn’t look thrilled to see him. Even from behind the glass in the observation room, he could see her nose wrinkle the moment Bobby had stumbled his way over the mat. 

_Good,_ Bobby had ground his teeth. _You don’t want me here, and I don’t want to be here._

He had no interest in piloting again. He knew what kind of bullshit could happen in a Jaeger. He didn’t want that responsibility of another person in his head, another person who shared the weight of metal and unimaginable firepower. The rush was undeniable, but the consequences were… crippling. 

He didn’t meet Peter’s eyes when he turned. He kept his attention on Kira Yukimura, the illustrious General’s only daughter. 

At first glance, Bobby thought that she looked like her mother. She held herself tall with perfect, strict military posture. Her steps were even, her center of balance unmoving and perfect. There was an absurd amount of people in the room, all of them eager to let her pass. She took off her boots quietly and when she stepped onto the mat, Finstock realized that the similarities between her and her mother ended there. 

She didn’t look at him with disgust, just confusion. He saw a lingering frustration there, but not aimed at him, specifically. He had a feeling it simmered under the surface. 

She went for his kidney first with a strike that was not meant to be a physical conversation at all. It was a match ender, and Bobby barely blocked it, stumbling back at her strength. He watched her face flicker, and the frustration that made her forehead wrinkle… vanished. 

Where she was technically trained and near perfect, Bobby let his lack of sobriety aid him. He watched her struggle to predict the movements and he brought his staff across her back, the _smack_ echoing in the room. 

She arched her back against the contact, her cheeks pink as she changed her position. The match would be standard. A bit boring. Uneven drunk against a practiced, technically proficient soldier. Bobby would do his part but he wasn’t about to hope for anything interesting—

Her eyes flickered down to his feet, and her… center of balance changed. 

She let her shoulders fall forward, her posture slide into imperfection. Bobby swallowed, his throat clicking. He smiled. 

She smiled back, crooked. Not practiced. 

_Lovely,_ he thought as their staffs came together, sharp and hard. He let his back straighten, his footfalls lighten as she let her momentum guide her around the mat, not practiced formations. They stopped pausing after every hit, going faster and faster, smiling wider and wider. For the first time in years, Bobby felt comfortable in his own skin. He was liquid fire, the sweat that dripped down his back a caress of a good match. 

Kira’s tongue peeked out the corner of her lips as she made quick jabs at his neck, Bobby dodging them easily until he knocked it away with a powerful swing. Her staff went flying and Bobby thrust his staff forward, knocking her onto her back but not before she kicked his staff out of his hands. 

He didn’t bother looking to see where it landed. The sound of a laugh being startled from her when she fell on the mat made his mouth dry. She turned onto her stomach, one knee up, ready to pull herself up and into a run.

 _Nope,_ Bobby dropped to the floor and grabbed her ankle, pulling it and relishing in the _shriek_ Kira let loose. He twisted her leg so she was back on her back again, her elbows propping her up, struggling to find grip as he pulled her to him. Her hair started to come loose and Bobby crawled on top of her, shivering when her breath washed over his skin, her smile unrestrained in astonished delight. 

His left arm pressed against her collarbone, his right hand creeping up to feel her pulse. 

Goosebumps sprung up on her skin and he wanted to chase them with his fingertips. She made a soft noise, breathless, and that was when her right hand jammed into his side, her legs sliding between his thighs and spreading, offsetting his balance—

His world spun, a dizzy yet delightful plunge as the wind was knocked out of him, his back pressed against the mat as her knees pressed down on his arms, her slender hands resting on his neck— pressing softly.

She felt just how hard his heart was beating. His face was flushed and he licked his lips. He watched her smile at the movement, her breaths matching his. Strands of her hair stuck to her face and neck, her chest heaved as she sucked in hair, and she leaned back, just enough so that she didn’t hurt his arms with her weight. 

“You are,” Bobby breathed, dazed and delighted, “absolutely wonderful.” 

Her flush spread down her neck. 

“I could say the same about you.” 

Her lips were slack, upturned in a lazy smile that Finstock wanted nothing more than to _taste_ — and then a throat cleared above them.

General Yukimura’s shadow fell over them and within moments Kira’s weight was off him, so fast that Finstock was dizzy. He struggled to pick himself up, his arms still numb and his skin feeling tight. Hypersensitive. Kira’s posture was rigid. Her smile was gone. 

The room exploded into noise and Finstock blinked, having forgotten that they had a huge audience… one that included Kira’s mother. 

::::

Peter laughed uproariously, his entire body shaking as his bionic arm slapped Finstock on the back. Stiles giggled with him, a wonderful low titter that never failed to tickle Peter with delight and affection. 

“In front of the General—” Bobby groaned, his head dropping to the table in the mess hall, which just made Peter laugh _harder_ , tears streaming down his face. “I thought I was going to have throw a sheet over you two, God. The _General_ , Bobby.” 

Stiles leaned forward on his elbows so he could get a better look at Peter’s former co-pilot, a wry smile on his face. 

“You have to admit, that was down right erotic.” Stiles whistled. “Look on the bright side, you can literally only improve from here.” 

“I didn’t,” Bobby whined, his shoulders up to his ears, his forehead still flat on the table, “I didn’t come here looking for a co-pilot.” 

“Obviously,” Peter rolled his eyes. “You look like a hobo.” Peter shrugged. “I mean, you weren’t exactly a fashion driven man in school, but this is a new personal low, Bobby. _Flip flops_?” 

Bobby picked his head up, a few red marks lingering on his face. He tapped his fingers on Peter’s bionic arm. 

“This is new.” 

“Well, it’s new to _you_.” Peter slug his arm around Stiles’s waist. “Stiles made it for me.” 

Stiles held out his hand. 

“Stiles Stilinski, at your service.” 

Bobby shook it, his smile slight, the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes tightening. 

“Bobby Finstock. Pleasure.” He released Stiles’s hand. “Did Peter tell you that I’m the reason he lost that arm?” 

Stiles withdrew his hand, his smile wide. 

“He did. He also said you’ve beaten yourself up about it more than he ever did.” 

Bobby grumbled and Peter pulled him close, his bionic arm around his waist. 

“It’s good to see you again, asshole.” 

And it was. Peter Hale was not… overly intimate with anyone. His own family found it difficult to relate to him, and it was only after drifting with Bobby, having everything he ever hid stripped away… and still coming out smiling on the other side, was a window into what he could share with another. Bobby had been a wild man in college, but his mind was calm, like spending a lazy Sunday during a rainstorm. 

Kira could use a bit of that strange serenity. 

And Peter wanted to have some time to himself with Bobby, to fall back into the easy rhythm with his best friend, but the end of the world beckoned. 

Sharp clicks of bootheels had the three of them turning. General Yukimura marched toward them with her usual entourage. Bobby flailed for just a moment, falling back against Peter before he picked himself up, his hands trembling slightly as he hid his grimace in a cup of coffee. Stiles and Peter stood, raising their hands in a quick salute. 

“General.” 

She nodded, allowing them to sit as she stared _hard_ at Bobby.

“Robert Finstock,” her lips clipped around his name like a knife. “We’d like to do a proper drift with you and Kira as soon as possible, to see if you are actually compatible.” 

“Okay.” He remained seated. The General’s eyebrows rose slowly. “Wait. _Now_?” 

“Yes.” General Yukimura’s jaw tightened. “Now.” 

Bobby shot a quick look to Peter before he stood up, his robe catching on the back of his chair for a few awkward seconds as he tugged it free. 

“Well all right then. Lead the way.” 

Peter watched his dear friend go, flip flops and all. Stiles rested his chin on Peter’s shoulder. 

“How did you know they were going to work so well together?” 

Peter leaned back against his boyfriend. 

“I’ve been inside of Bobby’s head for years. He’s a nut, but under all that weird, is a very sweet person. Kira is very sweet, and you have to get to know her to know how… weird she can be.” Peter shrugged. “A lucky guess. They still have to prove themselves in the Drift.” 

::::

Jaegers were marvels of the ingenuity of the human race. Brilliant minds from different reaches of science slammed together to create incredible war machines. Kira stood outside of her father’s latest design— The Kitsune, sleek and silver with hints of electric-blue highlights. It was built for speed and brutal, swift attacks. 

“Firefly,” her father brought her in for a warm hug. “I heard that you had quite the sparring match.” 

Kira blushed, drawing back so she could do her best to tie her hair back up into a tight bun. 

“It was unexpected.” Kira swallowed, wringing her hands. “I think he’s a good fighter. Good improvisation. It’s clear that he’s got a great base of knowledge.” 

Kira wished she knew how… her mother had seen the match. If it had looked as explicit as it felt. Her father gave her no hints as he cleared his throat, gently nodding his head. 

“Well, it looks like your man is here now.” 

Kira turned, and failed to suppress her shudder at the image of her mother in full uniform leading Kira’s co-pilot. She heard her father’s soft hum of surprise at how he held himself, and his general disregard for his surroundings. He’d suited up, to match Kira in sleek fitted, black Jaeger gear. 

Once he got closer, he broke out into a light jog, overtaking her mother until he was in front of Kira. 

“Hey,” he held out his hand, “I never got a chance to introduce myself. Bobby Finstock.” 

Kira shook his hand, wishing it could be skin-to-skin. 

“Kira Yukimura.” 

Bobby’s smile was wide, bright, and it made the lines in his face deepen in a way that Kira thought was… stunning. Her father cleared his throat. 

“I’m Ken Yukimura. Head engineer and designer of The Kitsune, the Jaeger made for my daughter.” 

She felt Bobby’s hand stutter in her grip before he withdrew it, quickly offering it to her father. 

“It’s uh, great to meet you.” 

He hesitated and Kira wondered if he debated saying _sir._ Her father went to the General so they could look over the set-up and Kira and Bobby made their way to the lift to board the Jaeger. He still slouched, his eyes taking in the hanger bay as they crept higher and higher. 

“Have you ever done this before?” His voice was still coarse. His eyes slid to the side, catching her staring. “Drifted with someone else?” 

Kira’s throat tightened. 

“Once before.” She broke his gaze. “We were not a good match.”

He nodded slowly, shifting his weight so his shoulder pressed against hers. 

“It’s not easy, finding the right person.” The lift stopped and Kira tried not to let her nervousness show. Bobby opened the hatch, letting Kira in first. “It might be overwhelming, but if anything goes wrong, I’ll talk you through it, okay?” 

“Okay.” Kira strapped on her helmet. She took a deep breath. “Thank you.” 

Bobby smiled, softer than the feral grin that she’d earned during their sparring match. He took his hand off the controls for a moment to reach over. She met him halfway, their fingers weaving together. He took his hand away just as Stiles’s voice came through their headsets. 

_“Kira, Bobby, we’re preparing you for the neural handshake.”_

Brown met green as Kira held Bobby’s eyes, her hands squeezing the controls. 

“Yukimura ready.” 

Bobby smiled and Kira knew that a stranger shouldn’t be reassuring… yet she felt the anxiety release its hold on her ribs for just a moment. His skin was illuminated in blue light as he grasped the controls. 

“Finstock ready.” 

_“Great,”_ Stiles clicked his tongue against his mouth and Kira heard him fumble with his displays. _“Get ready. Initiating handshake in three,”_ Kira closed her eyes and drew in a long breath, _“two,”_ she opened her eyes, staring out of the Jaeger’s display, _“one—”_

The Drift began with a harsh _yank,_ a confusing whirl for her brain because Kira _knew_ she was suspended in a Jaeger, that she was being held still, but it still felt as though a hook had pierced her navel and pulled her deep into the ocean. _It’s an exercise in control,_ her mother insisted, _don’t let yourself become weak and hysterical._

Her vision bled over, the blue flooding her _everything_ and Kira fell back into a mind that wasn’t hers. 

She was rushed through memories, a revolving door of moments. First kisses, first arrests, first friendships, and first loves. It was learning a body that was not hers, a flood of information that was in her brain as though it had always lived there. All she had to do was make it to the other side, to keep breathing, to keep a calm, steady mind until they were at the calmer end of the drift—

Her body jerked. Panic flooded her system. Her eyes were wide, but they weren’t her eyes, because she was no longer in The Kitsune. The coloring was wrong, and her head was turned to the left, her throat burning in a neverending scream because _Peter was on fire, her co-pilot was burning alive and it was all her fucking fault—_

 _“— are out of alignment, Yukimura, get Finstock back in line—”_

“Bobby!” Kira heard her voice, but she couldn’t see herself, couldn’t _feel_ herself, and a barrage of _mourningloathingconfusionworry_ was the only warning Kira had before Finstock yanked them out of the memory. Peter’s screams were still fresh in Kira’s mind, the smell of burning flesh stained her tongue. “Bobby—” 

Kira turned her head, her hands shaking. _Don’t be weak,_ her mother’s voice hissed in her ear, her gaze meeting Bobby’s wide eyes. His lips moved, around an apology. Around her name. _Don’t be hysterical._ Kira had to look forward. She had to do well. She had to be _better._

_Don’t embarrass me._

And just like that, she was pulled under. 

::::

Finstock never liked the phrase _chasing the rabbit._ It never felt like a chase. It felt like he was fucking drowning. 

Unrelenting, punishing himself with vivid memories of the day Peter lost his arm, almost died because Finstock wasn’t good enough. Wallowing with Peter’s screams ringing in his ears and the crackle of flesh popping and burning peppering his skin was fine when he was alone. He should have gotten a handle himself… because he was no longer alone with his thoughts. 

Kira’s voice pulled him out. He blinked, and Peter was gone. It was Kira, her brown eyes shining, her skin pale, bathed in blue light. His heart hammered in his chest, his shoulders quaking as his anxiety choked him. 

_Not my anxiety,_ Finstock had time to think, had time to see that Kira wasn’t blinking, her lips quivering as _failurefailurefailurefailurefailurefailurefailure_ blazed across his mind. 

As soon as the Drift had first started, Finstock had felt a constricting mixture of shame, anxiety, and dread that had never gripped his body before. Kira’s entire being flashed before him, and his first thought was _Christ, you need a day off._ A day out from under the Yukimura legacy. 

At first, Finstock didn’t realize anything was wrong, because he was still in The Kitsune, just on the wrong side. His body was lighter, slender, and he was looking at a handsome young man. He was drifting, and the man was Scott McCall. He was the first man Kira had ever loved, confessing her affection against his lips the first time they made love. 

Scott McCall, the first time a sparring match had been slightly interesting. A young man her mother adored. A young man that would finally, _finally_ make her mother proud if Kira couldn’t do it herself. 

The problem with the Drift was that no one could hide. 

Not even Scott. 

Finstock moved with Kira, smelling blood the moment the neural bridge opened, a flicker of worry, of _don’t look_ that had Kira tearing after it. Following it down, down, _down_ until she saw Scott, until she _was_ Scott, meeting with her mother. Agreeing to befriend Kira, to get as close as he could to her. His hands took a dossier that her mother had prepared on her. Kira had been stripped down to eight pages of single spaced, size ten font. 

Waves of embarrassment came from Scott, he kept shrieking _Pull us out, pull us out, General Yukimura, pull us out—_ his voice getting higher and higher as Kira burned through him, unfiltered rage, heartbreak, and shame. She burned in him so bright that his voice gave out and streaks of white slashed through his hair. 

_**“Self-destruct mechanism initiated. Time to detonation, two minutes.”** _

_“— both out of alignment, if we pull the power it will automatically go off—”_

_“Kira,”_ Peter’s voice crackled through the static, _“Bobby, can you hear me, come back, **please—”**_

Finstock and Kira snapped back with gasp. His hands gripped the controls, disabling the self-destruct sequence as Kira breathed in time with him. Their hearts beat as one, their skin was clammy, but they were together.

“We’re good.” Kira’s voice rang out firm. “We’re good.” 

“Can confirm,” Finstock let past anxieties fall away easily, grounding himself in the present. He smiled when he felt Kira do the same. “Let’s move on with target practice, shall we?” 

There was a pause from the control room. Then a long breath. 

_“Proceed,”_ General Yukimura commanded. 

Finstock had to admit, being back in a Jaeger was exhilarating. Using the controls to shoot arbitrary targets, pulling out the sword of the back, and testing the mobility brought Finstock right back to the first time he’d piloted. Kira’s mind was like a breeze from the ocean, refreshing and bright as he eagerness to learn made Finstock blush. 

_This is nice,_ Finstock heard loud and clear from Kira. He felt his heart squeeze, his lips pulling back into a grin. 

_It’s all about finding the right partner,_ he shot back. 

After twenty minutes, they returned to the hanger to disengage. It was a slow process, as the neural bridge was closed, and Finstock had to get used to being alone in his own head. He let the controls fall from his hands as the locking mechanisms on his arms and legs opened with a _hiss._ The displays went dark and for a few moments, it was just him and Kira. 

“Hey,” Finstock stepped out of the suspension apparatus first. His legs were jelly, his brain struggling to catch up with the fact that he was back in his own body. “Kira, you did great.” 

She laughed, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. 

“Yeah.” She let him ease her onto the floor. “Right.”

“Kira,” he tore at his Jaeger suit, ripping the gloves off so his bare hands could touch her face. “Look at me.” She did, and Finstock felt warm the moment their eyes met. “The first time sucks. That’s just a fucking fact. Ask Peter, I was bawling over some bullshit that happened to me in the ninth grade and they had to shut down the entire Jaeger to pull us out.” 

“I know.” Kira smiled, just a little but it was enough to ease the worry in Finstock’s mind. “Mary went to the dance with your brother instead of you.” 

“Right.” Heat prickled at his cheeks because _yeah_ of course Kira knew. “It was my fault. I probably set you off. You pulled me out and… I’ve got more experience, I should have better control.” 

She let out a bitter laugh and Finstock knew why. It had repeatedly been told to her that _she_ needed to be level-headed, that failure was not an option. She swallowed. 

“Can you help me out of my suit?” 

Finstock smiled. 

“Of course.”

Twenty minutes passed before they opened the hatch, stepping into the lift dressed in underwear and thin tank-tops. Medics and the staff of the Control Room running towards them as soon as they touched down. They were _not_ separated, Kira grabbing Finstock’s hand before the first medic could touch her. Whispers of the Drift still resonated between them, phantom touches from hands that weren’t his, thoughts that he hadn’t grown, and knowledge he hadn’t collected. 

_Follow the light. How many fingers am I holding up? What is today’s date? Are you experiencing any discomfort, strange tastes, or abdominal pain?_

Stethoscopes dragged across sensitive skin. Penlights burned their pupils. It was never the fun part, the observation and questions after, being slid under a microscope looking for signs of instability. Finstock rubbed his cheek with his free hand. Kira leaned her head against his shoulder, small tremors still slithering through her shoulders. 

General Yukimura watched them, her eyes burning a hole through Finstock’s forehead. 

He could still taste the years of anxiety and self-loathing on his tongue, the carousel of _not good enough_ fresh in his mind. _Bullshit,_ he didn’t mind thinking, knowing next time that Kira would hear it. _That’s a whole lot of bullshit._ He saw the tension start to bleed back into her shoulders, old habits coming back to snap against her like leather straps. 

“Hey.” Kira glanced up at him and Finstock tucked a stray lock of hair back behind her ear, rubbing his thumb over the swell of her cheek as she smiled. “Want to hear about the time that I wrestled a naked frat guy for half a beer?” 

Technically Kira already knew that story, as she likely knew _every_ story that Finstock could ever tell. She had seen every inch of Bobby, everything he couldn’t hide, couldn’t put up walls against. And she still smiled, a beautiful pink hue staining her cheeks as she laughed, loud and unrestrained. 

Her delight echoed like church bells off the hanger walls. 

::::

Stiles had never wanted to enter the Drift until he saw Kira talk to Peter after her and Finstock’s first run. 

The two pilots disappeared for a few hours, which was pretty common after a Drift, especially the first time. From the papers Stiles had read, the lingering neural connection was like phantom pains, and the need to be close was strong. _Tactile reinforcement of the self and partner is highly encouraged,_ the studies claimed. Peter rolled his eyes and said it was a fancy way of saying “Cuddle until you feel like your skin is yours.” 

Stiles was always antsy after deployment, even though it was just a test run. He waited with Peter in the long barrack halls. 

“I’m surprised the General let them go.” Stiles leaned against the metal wall. “Do the whole tactile reinforcement thing.” 

Peter snorted. 

“She’d be highly unwise to stop them. After a while it stops being necessary, but the first time…” Peter shuddered, “it’s needed.” 

Everything Stiles knew about Bobby Finstock were the things that Peter had told him. It took a few years, but when Peter started to trust him, the stories came easily. Befriending his now beloved idiot, a best friend who wore audacious colors and was the loudest, most affectionate drunk at every party… someone who was garish and unrefined, the perfect balance for years of the Hales worshipping etiquette. 

Finstock’s favorite shirt in college was a neon tank-top that said SHIT HEAD. He obeyed nothing and no one. 

It was strange meeting the legend, all the stories that Stiles had laughed at, all the details that had struck him as colorful and loud— and the final product was a drunk in flip flops. A lot had changed over the years. 

Yet when Finstock and Kira came back, Stiles saw that man that Peter loved so dearly, whose friendship had shaped him into the smarmy asshole that Stiles loved. Finstock moved with assurance, a swagger that was either genetic or due to alcohol, and his crooked smile had a certain charm. 

Kira slung her arm around Peter’s shoulder. Stiles had _never_ seen her do that before, especially not followed up with, “Let’s go eat something that will make us shit up our own asshole.” 

Before the _what the fuck_ could leave Stiles’s mouth, Peter slapped his own hand over his face before playfully shoving Kira back into Finstock. 

“Oh my God,” Peter peeked between his fingers. “I forgot. I’m in Bobby’s head as well.” 

Kira ran her tongue over her teeth, something Stiles had seen Bobby do. 

“You know it.” 

Stiles should have seen it coming, really. He was stupid not to. Bobby Finstock had always been a man of myth, one that he never thought he’d meet ever since the man exiled himself. But then he came back, and this man knew Peter in ways that Stiles never would. It was obvious how they moved around each other, how a single word could make the other smile, roll their eyes, or elbow them sharply in the ribs.

And now Kira knew that language… the language Stiles had no hope of acquiring. 

He couldn’t Drift even if he wanted to. Mental illness history on his mother’s side had made that impossible, and that was _fine,_ it was super risky and who wanted someone so deep inside his own head that there were serious risks of identity-blending? It was invasive. Intimate to an uncomfortable level. 

Kira smiled more, her weight swaying to lean on Peter or Bobby, and her and Bobby would sometimes say an inside joke at the same time, making them both double over in laughter. Peter rolled his eyes with a _I could barely stand one, and now he has a helper,_ but he was smiling. Happy.

The Kaiju did not give Stiles much time to mope. Breaches happened faster and faster each day. He was in the Control Room, sometimes for days at a time with General Yukimura at his back. 

The Kitsune and Big Bear, a red Jaeger from Russia, were tearing apart a Kaiju that looked to be part lamprey. Big Bear was heavy, slow-moving but it hit hard, so Kira and Bobby were using their speed to keep the Kaiju guessing. 

Stiles didn’t have to turn to know that the General’s mouth was pressed into a tight line, never able to decide if she was happy or furious that her daughter was a perfect match with Finstock. Stiles monitored their alignment, just as they drove their sword through the Kaiju’s mouth, he felt the irrational, _irresponsible,_ and unfair wave of jealousy sweep through him. 

Of course, the moment that fissure of ugly unpleasantness entered his mind, the Kaiju flailed it’s tail in one last desperate deathwish against the Kitsune. It ripped off a huge chunk of The Kitsune’s head that left Kira exposed, and as the monster died, Kira pushed herself out of alignment. 

Stiles flipped on the mic, but the General shoved him to the side. Peter burst into the Control Room and Stiles had fallen off his chair, his eyes wide as The Kitsune staggered forward, dominated by its left side. The General was shouting, Peter trying to get a hold of microphone, and Stiles’s body was numb because it wasn’t that Kira had slipped out alignment. She’d _forced_ Bobby out of the neural handshake. 

It took forty-five seconds for The Kitsune to crash into the hanger, it’s left hand catching itself as it powered down. Forty-five seconds of Kira taking the entirety of the neural load on herself. Forty-five seconds of Finstock screaming every obscenity under the sun, and forty-five seconds of the General being unable to stop her daughter. 

By the time they’d all run down to the hanger, Finstock had taken Kira out of the harness, cradling her in his arms as blood poured out of her nose and ears. 

Stiles watched medics hurry Kira and Finstock away, as the General and Ken followed, Ken at a quicker pace. The Kaiju was dead, there was a small celebration in the hanger… but Kira’s blood was still on the floor. 

The only ones allowed in the hospital wing was the General, Ken, and Finstock. Peter and Stiles waited in the hall, gripping each other’s hand in a death grip. 

_It was my fault,_ Stiles thought, knowing it was ridiculous, but he couldn’t help but think about all those times his dad had told him to _quit being so negative._ It was that sliver of irrationality, that twinge of disconnected threads that Stiles chased, wondering if he could have changed just one thing, if he could have stopped _one_ thought from crossing his mind, The Kitsune would have ended the fight like they had every other one. With victory, with Kira and Bobby stepping out in synch, smiling wide at each other with their arms around each other’s shoulders. _It was my fault._

“What?” Peter’s voice startled Stiles out of his spiral. And Stiles realized he’d _said_ that bullshit out loud. “What are you _talking about?”_

Stiles’s throat tightened. He was tempted to pull away. To leave and throw away three years of loving Peter so much it scared him. Peter wasn’t into morons, and what Stiles had thought was pretty moronic. 

Peter’s grip tightened on Stiles’s fingers. 

“It’s stupid.” Stiles hunched over. “I _know_ it’s stupid, okay? I know that. It’s just… I was… I was jealous. Of them. Of them _with_ you and it just felt like, if I could have just kept my shit together then this wouldn’t have happened.” Peter let Stiles’s hand go and Stiles covered his face, sticky heat spreading down his neck. “I can never drift with you. I won’t know you like they do.” 

Stiles had no right to cry, not when Kira was unconscious, not when Finstock had been so pale that even the General hadn’t thought to deny him access to Kira’s room. The world was ending. More monsters crawled out of the ocean and they were just plugging holes, they weren’t actually _fixing_ the problem. 

In the span of _problems that actually matter,_ Stiles was a speck in an ocean. 

Lips pressed against his temple. Stiles’s hands fell from his face, his skin raw and sensitive as Peter pulled him close. 

“The Drift isn’t an end-all-be-all. It doesn’t fix all problems.” Stiles hid his face in Peter’s shirt. “Bobby and I drifted after the accident, you know. He saw that I didn’t blame him. He saw everything I did, he felt everything I did… and he still quit. He still hasn’t forgiven himself.” Peter sighed. “And it’s not like taking a relationship to the next level. If it was, Kira and Bobby would not _still_ be dancing around each other.” 

Stiles laughed a little and he felt Peter’s smile against his head. 

The world kept turning and they had about thirty-six hours until the next predicted breach. The celebrations after each defeat kept getting shorter and shorter. Peter pressed a sharp kiss against Stiles’s cheek.

“I don’t like sharing you. Kira and Bobby know me, sure, but they know me before I met _you._ They know my past, Stiles, but you’re my future.” 

Tomorrow was never guaranteed. Stiles pulled Peter into a proper kiss. 

::::

When Kira opened her eyes, the base had fallen into a hush and the lights were dimmed. Bobby was slumped over on her right side, his elbows resting on the bars on her bed. His shoulders stretched his shirt, using his arms as a pillow, the lines in his face still deep even when he slept. 

She shuffled up the bed, moving the pillows so she could sit comfortably. Without thinking, she gently ran her fingers through Bobby’s hair. 

The Drift was… not what Kira had expected. She’d read countless articles and first-hand accounts, but it wasn’t enough to prepare her for what it meant to Drift with a real _partner._ It was like skinny dipping in the dark, she was vulnerable yet they were both even. There was no time to be worried about what each other saw, because by the time that thought had time to form, they’d seen it. The memories didn’t always stick, except for really vivid events, but there were moments… whispers of something that didn’t belong to Kira.

A sudden craving for whiskey, the not-memory of it on her tongue and how that buzz would travel down her spine, how it would make her tongue loose, how it would make the world a series of fireworks and bubbling laughter. How whiskey had changed as a sign of celebration to mourning, to try and wash over the taste of burning flesh, to try to numb the phantom pains that still shot up Bobby’s arm. 

She wondered what Bobby took from her, what tiny things would come across his mind during the day. 

His hair was softer than it looked. She kept caressing him, gentle pets and pulls, her nails running lightly across his scalp because she knew how much he liked it… even though she’d never had the courage to do it before. She knew that he liked to have his hair pulled, to have teeth scrape across his skin… and she also knew that he quietly yearned to be treated softly. Rough was nice… but he wanted to know what it was like to be treasured. 

Her thumb gently brushed over the wrinkles above his brow. 

A soft groan made her fingers jump. 

“That feels… nice.” He picked his head up, his eyes shining in the dark. “I’m still mad, though.” 

Kira tugged on his ear. 

“I know.” He pulled his chair closer and didn’t fight it when she ran her fingers down his arms, tracing his veins until she reached his fingers. “If the worst happened… I didn’t want you to feel it again. Like you did with Peter.” 

Kira saw the tail, heard the metal splinter, and she broke the connection. It hurt. It hurt unlike _anything_ she’d ever experienced… but she didn’t regret it. Even if it made Bobby’s shoulders shudder his frown twisted as he pulled her upright. 

“Yeah, I know why you fucking did it.” His arms pulled her close, pushing the breath out of her mouth. His bristly cheek tickled and she could feel that his cheeks were still wet. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” She felt his throat swallow, she felt how his fingers trembled against her sides. “Kira, we’ve got the next day off.” He pulled back, his fingers gripping her hands gently. “I want to take you somewhere.” 

She was checked out in the next hour, and Bobby had taken her hand, waiting for her to change her clothes before they were moving fast through the halls. Peter met up with them in the smaller hanger that was not facing. He tossed them keys and a few bags. 

“Be back before five. I can distract the General, but not if Kira misses dinner.” 

He flashed Kira a brilliant smile before Bobby slipped his hand back into hers, a gentle guide to a Jeep that Kira had a feeling hadn’t been properly signed out. The sun was just beginning to peak above the horizon when Kira slid into the passenger’s seat. She’d never left the base, and had no interest since she didn’t know the area. Her parents had hopped around base to base. Kira had the foggiest memories of New York… back before the first Kaiju appeared.

After that… Kira’s world became military bases. 

“You’ve never been to Georgia, right?” Bobby didn’t need to ask, he knew. His lips were curled, the tension bleeding from his shoulders the farther they got from the base. “We’re taking a personal day. Back before all the bullshit, it was just something you did. Call off work, do whatever. Whether that was going out with friends or just staying in bed and jerking off… it was completely up to you.” 

Kira snickered.

“I can guess which kind of days you preferred.” 

He waggled his eyebrows with a shrug and Kira thought, not even close to the first time: 

_I love you._

He was coarse. Crass. A former wild partier who had been weighed down with grief and guilt. He was striking. Kira had a hard time looking away from him, from the first time she saw him it only grew more difficult. She wanted to trace the lines of his face, she wanted to be gentle with him, and rough if he wanted. She wanted to taste him when he was happy and when he was sad. _He must know,_ Kira thought, unless it was one of the details of the drift that fell away. 

Florida had been evacuated, most of the coastal cities and states had been, and most people had been relocated to the Midwest. They had to stop a few times to drive around roadblocks, and a few turns later, off the highway and down dirt roads… the brown dirt blossomed into…

Electric tangerine orange. 

_Georgia clay,_ a Drift remnant supplied. The sun hit it and it looked like fire. 

“When classes got too rough or we needed to just get away, Peter and I would drive out in the clay.” Finstock stopped the car. “Now, for the next part… I’m not sure if it’s going to still be here, but I figured I’d give it a shot.” 

Dry grass brushed against their pants as they pulled themself up the side of the claybed roads with bags slung on their backs. The grass was overgrown, the insects and birds waking up as the sun spilled across the trees. 

“Yes!” Bobby broke out into a run. She ran after him, smiling as she reached for him. He caught her hand. Twigs and leaves crackled under their boots and they reached the top of a hill that revealed a distinctly evenly planted grouping of trees. “Still here!” 

“Is this… an orchard?” 

“Yee-up,” Bobby whistled. “True blue Georgia peaches.” 

Peter had packed them thick picnic blankets, two glasses, and twinkling, amber whiskey. _Is this what normal used to feel like,_ Kira wondered as Bobby handed her a peach. Rations were strict on base, and fresh fruit was something Kira hadn’t thought about before. The whiskey was a smokey knife to the decadent peach. 

_I love you,_ Kira felt the words press against her lips, whiskey-flavored and absolute. But she’d seen, and retained, from the Drift, all of Bobby’s past lovers. Fleeting, alcohol fueled, and any words of affection were only uttered when alcohol gave them the excuse. 

Kira swallowed the words down, and she leaned on Finstock instead. Juice ran down her hand and she licked her palm, smiling when Finstock watched her, his cheeks red. _This is what normal tastes like,_ she thought, her tongue running over her fingers, a salty-sweet memory and the exhilaration of being watched. Wanted. 

Bobby handed her another peach, his smile crooked and his eyes hungry. 

::::

Whiskey and peaches lingered on his tongue when Finstock woke up the next morning. He swung his legs over the side of his bed and stretched, his back popping in a few places. 

Cold water numbed his skin as he splashed his face, his eyes catching every flaw in his dirty mirror. Bags under his eyes, wrinkles at the corner of his mouth and eyes, his overall manic expression… hair that looked like he’d been electrocuted. It was a lot, even when the world wasn’t ending. 

Not for the first time, Bobby wished he lived in a world where the Kaiju never arrived. Where… if he’d met Kira some other way, in some other universe, he could live _with her,_ give her what she wanted. What places did she want to see? What new restaurant opened? How about a movie? They’d grow close over cocktails and sweet flirtations that lingered as the nights grew longer. 

Instead, all he could give her was a mind that matched, a neural handshake that could be maintained. 

With his whiskey in hand, he’d come close to asking her if… if…

 _If you asked me me to leave, with you, I would._ He’d been so close, especially at the noise she made when she bit into the peach, her eyes widening and _God,_ she hadn’t tasted one before. _It isn’t fair_ choked him. He’d lost count at how many times that sentiment tightened its grip around his throat when it came to Kira. 

It wasn’t fair that the world was ending, that her mother and father were legends, and that for some reason that meant that the fate of the world fell on her shoulders. It wasn’t fair that intimacy and affection was rushed, hyper saturated through the neural handshake. 

Bobby hadn’t wanted to take his time with someone as badly as he did with Kira. 

He wiped his hands off on his boxers, tugging at his hair a little to wake himself up. He wanted to drown himself in whiskey, to chase after the feeling of her eyes on his, their skin warm under the natural sun and not military fluorescents. His hand shook and he clenched them into a fists, opting to pull on pants instead of unscrewing the bottle. He was digging around for socks when a loud series of knocks on his door made him pause. 

Still rubbing sleep from his eyes, Bobby didn’t bother checking the clock as he opened the door, Kira slipping in quickly. 

“Good morning,” her cheeks were flushed, wet from a quick shower, and her hair was down. She had a bag slung over her shoulder and a plate of the shitty powdered eggs from the mess hall. “I grabbed you breakfast.” 

She dug around in her bag and pulled out a—

“Kira,” Bobby frowned, “is that a breathalyzer?” 

“Yes. I stole it from the medbay.” She blew into it and showed him the 0.0 result. “I’m not drunk. I ran seven miles this morning. I didn’t experience any dizziness or nausea while I did so.” 

Bobby chuckled, becoming more and more awake by the moment.

“You’re a machine, but you didn’t need to blow into a breathalyzer to show me that—” 

“I love you.” Kira rushed out, her eyes bright. “I love you. Every piece of you.” Her words, warmed with a hopeful smile, struck all thought from Bobby’s mind. He could only stare at her pink cheeks, at her steady hands as, after a few heartbeats, her smile faded. “I am sober and… I just wanted you to know that. Because…” her voice cracked a little, and she ducked her head to the side, her fingers reaching back for the door. “You should know that you’re loved.” 

He staggered forward and before she could get her hand on the door, he slipped his hand around her waist, redirecting her momentum. Her fingers gripped his hip and he had time to see her blush spread down her neck before he kissed her. 

She was soft, going still for just a moment before she leaned in for more, her fingers gently brushing through his stubble. She touched him like he was fragile, like he was something precious to be unwrapped with delicate touches and swipes of tongue. He whimpered, high and a little embarrassing when she kissed the corner of his mouth, moving to his jawline, her breath hot. 

Every touch of her lips was benediction, a forgiveness and declaration. He was helpless in her hands, his vision blurred as they stumbled back until his knees hit the bed. Even then, she was soft and slow, her hands running down his chest. 

“Kiss me,” Bobby begged after another open-mouthed press against the sensitive skin on his neck. “Kiss me, Kira, _please—”_

She granted his wish with a smile that tasted like early morning fog over a lake. 

Of course that was when the alarm went off, blaring through the halls. _Calling all Jaeger pilots,_ echoed, on monotone repeat. Kira pulled back, her shoulders slipping back into military perfection. Before she could get off his lap, Bobby leaned in for a quick kiss, his lips brushing against her as the alarm sounded again, louder. 

“Kira,” he spoke against her bruised lips, “I love you too.” 

She smiled, wide enough that the tightness around her eyes was delayed by a couple of seconds. 

Bobby slipped his hand into hers, opening the door so they could run down to the hanger. As their feet fell in perfect synch, Finstock thought of the propaganda posters… and how he was starting to buy into their slogans, though not for the reasons the government wanted. 

_Fight for Tomorrow!_

Her hand tight in his, her heart beating with his, Finstock ran toward that goal.

**Author's Note:**

> Dang you Ruby!! This was too good of an idea to pass up and oh my gosh guys. I can't. I can't apologize anymore for Bobby and Kira. I love them too much. I actually had a lot of fun playing with this 'verse, so I really do want to add more, maybe some stuff with Scott. And you know, maybe work towards a hopeful tomorrow.
> 
> Come say hi to me on [**tumblr**](http://mia6363.tumblr.com/).


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